I love your imperfections
I love your everything
Your broken heart, your broken wings
I love you when you hold me
And when you turn away
I love you still and I'm not afraid
Cause I know you feel the same way
And you'll stay Cause when we're torn apart
Shattered and scarred
Love has the grace to save us
We're just two tarnished hearts
When in each other's arms
We become saints and angels. Sarah Evans, Saints and Angels

I went hiking with a female friend yesterday in the wood behind my house. As we followed the old railroad bed and pulled aside branches, we talked a lot about our township and a developers' plans to build a spa and "English style village." After speculating for a while about people's motives and interests, and delving into children and their behavior, the conversation turned, as it occasionally does, to why long married men seem to be so clueless about a few basic things having to do with family life.

Then it was time to turn to our other peculiar puzzle, my "love" life. What I want, I told her, is a man who knows he's broken, and needs a companion. Because I sure as heck am. Broken. Not in need of more than one savior-but of a guy who is willing to show me his scars...and then laugh a little, and throw his arms around me, and keep moving forward...together.

Until then, I guess I stay this just side of reserved-guarding not my body so much as my heart.